The Six Medics
by The Exile
Summary: (warhammer 40K) A gang of psychopathic munchkin field medics pull the plug on the Emperor.
1. introduction

The Six Medics  
  
by: The Exile  
  
'We bring life, we bring death. Let the impure bow down before our hole punches.'  
  
1  
  
Deep jungle. Harsh voices. A flurry of majestic birds spiralling upwards. The peace disturbed.  
  
The battle begun.  
  
General †bermunchkin primed his boltgun and took a few practice shots at a nearby tree. Branches were torn from it like paragraphs under the cut and paste of a file surgeon. He smiled humourlessly. The battle rage- his old and dearest friend- was beginning to fill him. He would be proud to die for Humanity this night; the souls of the fallen sung to him from their final blissful resting place in the arms of their Emperor-God. May He bless my weapon and bring me victory, prayed General †bermunchkin as he signalled to move closer to the enemy.  
  
It was a stealth mission. They knew they were outnumbered, but they ahd the advantage of surprise and better discipline. As General †bermunchkin crawled through the lush undergrowth, he could see the feral red eyes of the Orks, feel their fetid breath upon his face. They were performing barbaric rituals, baying war chants and painting their faces with mud, arguing over who was the leader. General †bermunchkin despised the Orks over any of the Emperor's other enemies; they were an anathema to the divine light of humanity. A blood-red mist filled his senses. Many orks desrved to die for angering him.  
  
He ran a finger over the scar on his face; it was time.  
  
"For the Emperor! CHAAAAAAAARGE!"  
  
"Hey! Look! Oomans! Kill 'em! WAAGH PENGUIN!"  
  
"WAAAGH PENGUIN!"  
  
Blue death streamed from bolters as the Space Marines charged, tearing into the enemy ranks. The Orks responded with razor-sharp hand weapons, bodily hurling themselves at the hated humans, snarling and biting. Rockets exploded as a jury-rigged Ork Dreadnought whirred and clanked its way into the fray, promptly exploding and taking out huge numbers of both sides. A Land Raider droned overhead, its lasers strafing the ground. The Ork Boss roared his contempt for the human race, inspiring his fellow Orks to fight even more ferociously. General †bermunchkin had him in his sights. If he could slay the leader, the Orks woudl be so demoralised that they would flee like the bestial cowards they really were, and planet Hydover 3 would be liberated. He aimed his bolter carefully and...  
  
"Boyz! Run fer it!"  
  
"What's happening? Take cover!"  
  
General †bermunchkin looked up to the serene lime-green sky and his soul was filled with utter dread. He had never known fear like this in his entire life- it was like looking into an abyss full of demons. No, worse. He dropped his weapon and prayed. His fate was assured now; even the Emperor couldn't help him.  
  
They had come. * * * 


	2. 1

2  
  
White drop pods descended from the sky like fallen angels. Six of them. General †bermunchkin hid behind a tree and watched them with a kind of perverse fascination. They landed and the doors slid open automatically. Six shapes of varying sizes- three squat, one Dark Eldar, one ogryn and one dreadnought- stepped out. They scanned the battlefield for signs of life and quickly spotted the confused armies that were milling about like a colony of giant disorganised ants. The dreadnought turned its customised speakers up to 'extremely loud' and spoke wirh a voice that would befit a machine much, much huger. Its voice thundered across the battlefield, demanding absolute silence. Even the Orks obeyed.  
  
"We are a neutral band of travelling field medics. We will aid either side. Do not attack us! I repeat, do not attack us! We will be establishing a neutral zone right here. If any of you attack us, we will be forced to retaliate. Thankyou for your co-operation."  
  
The armies collectively waved at the medics cheerfully and went back to knocking each other to pieces. General †bermunchkin sighed. There were new recuits and stupid people on both sides. Someone, somewhere, was going to make a mistake. A badly aimed bolter, a frustrated Ork with no-one in their immediate vicinity to bash... and then there would be no escape from the terrible retribution. The Six Medics... how could he be so stupid as to turn up to a battle on a planet that was to be visited by the Six Medics? It was the second rule in the book, straight after 'if a Chaos Marine buys you a pint, don't drink it'.   
  
"Hey, Duckie, pass me a medikit, mine's run out." said a gruff squat voice.  
  
"Idiot, I told you to replenish it BEFORE we went down!" growled a female squat in reply. A small white metal object went whizzing through the air, catching the squat on the ear as he knelt beside an injured Marine and tended carefully to his wounds. He would have the man up and running before the battle was over. Drake prided himself on his skills. As he deftly applied a bandage to the nasty wound on the man's arm, he kept a close eye on Jack.   
  
"JACK! Ask them first!" he yelled. The negative medic ignored him and swiftly provided someone with euthanasia before loping off into the distance to look for new patients. The dreadnought stomped past, revving up a large chainsaw. Quack was the technician; he liked big machines. He was off to fix the other dreadnought.   
  
"Oi! Keep off neutral zone!" rumbled a deep, slow voice. It was punctuated by a cataclysmic explosion that tore an enormous crater into the surface of the planet, possibly changing the environmental conditions for years to come. At least fifty Orks, staggering into the roped-off area while blind drunk, were vapourised. A tree flew through the air and almost fell on top of General †bermunchkin. Bark splinters pierced his leg as he dived for cover. Pain shot through his whole body. I'm not badly damaged, he told himself, I'll live.  
  
"Er... Duckie..." Drake stammered, embarrassed. The tree had fallen right on top of his medikit. This time, the replacement hit him in a more personal area of his body. He doubled over in agony, but got back onto his feet in seconds. His pain didn't matter; there were people in worse condition that needed healing.  
  
"Reporting faults in Doctor Mallard's HP meter." announced Quack.   
  
"What?" yelled the third squat medic. He hadn't heard because he was busy rolling underneath moving tanks, jumping on top of other tanks, leaping from tank to tank, running through hails of bullets, dodging flying trees and generally risking his life like a crazy suicidal maniac.  
  
"Mallard? Do you read me, Mallard? This is urgent!"  
  
Doctor Mallard ignored him; he threw himself under a bush and scrabbled through the undergrowth to where General †bermunchkin sat. He examined the man, aging but well-built and charismatic in his veteran armour. He had a deep leg wound and seemed to be suffering from some kind of shock, but Mallard really couldn't tell without his HP meter. The medic unslotted the device from his purpose-built armour and connected it gently to the patient. It beeped wildly. HP 3. Mallard shook his head. It didn't look that way, but it was. And Jack was right on the other end of the battlefield.  
  
"MALLARD! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING? COME HERE AT ONCE!"  
  
"Your wounds are too grave, brother. Do you desire the Emperor's Peace?" said Mallard softly. Unlike Jack, he was courteous and polite to senior officers; that's why he wasn't the negative medic.  
  
General †bermunchkin blinked and tried to overcome his creeping terror. He wanted the man pointing the hole punch at his head to go away, but couldn't remember the right words. He couldn't even remember what the man had just said. Was he after some money?   
  
'Yes." he said weakly. He heard a click as Mallard pulled back the catch on the hole punch... * * * 


	3. 2

3  
  
Doctor Mallard stood in chains before the Grand Space Marine Court.   
  
His head was bowed, not in shame, for he felt no shame. What he had done was the best he could have done in the situation. How could he have known that his equipment was faulty? It was a simple mistake, and no fault of his own. He had absolute faith in his innocence and his good standing in the eyes of the gods and goddesses of healing. Instead, he felt only fear and apprehension. What was to become of him? He knew there was no justice in this mockery of a trial. The Emperor was a dictator, and his courts were the hands of tyranny. The penalty was going to be severe. He knew that. All he could do was pray that it would be moderately severe, as opposed to inhumanly sadistic. He guessed he would probably recieve a ridiculously long prison sentence or some kind of humiliating permanent exile; something he could just about live with. Admittedly, he wasn't a judge, and didn't have much of an imagination.  
  
The splendour of the massive court room was breathtaking. Domed in shape, the chamber extended vertically further than Mallard could possibly see. Rows and rows of huge steps extended backwards, enough for an entire Chapter and their dogs to find a place to stand and still leave room for a small army to walk down the intricately enamelled aisle in the center. Tapestries that were tens of thousands of years old hung from the titanium walls, ritual justice banners of every Chapter and the Emperor's own personal depiction of a golden knight holding aloft a set of scales and a shining sword. Amplifying equipment that would make Quack and his dreadnought blush with envy lurked in the background so that the final decision of the judge could be heard by all. On either side of Mallard, grim-faced men in veteran Marine armour held their swords to the ground in a ceremonial position, focussed and unmoving as statues. He knew that these were some of the elite of the Emperor's army, men that most would never dream of setting eyes on. Behind them stood beaurocratic officials and officers of the Emperor's law. In the distance, Mallard spotted a gang of Techmarines, engaged in some kind of specialist technical discussion. Their faces were somber, and every so often they saluted the machine god. In front of Mallard, a massive podium loomed over him, a sword carved into its incomprehensibly ancient wooden panels. The judge stood before this podium, presumably stood on a raised platform. He ran his hands over a page in the Liber Legale, the sacred Book of Law that only the most esteemed servants of the Emperor were ever allowed to touch. He observed Mallard expressionlessly and spoke.  
  
"Doctor Mallard Wei§zauber. You are stood here today to answer to the charge of murdering a senior officer in cold blood and almost causing an important battle to be lost. How do you plead?"  
  
"Not guilty."   
  
"Do you realise the seriousness of this offence? We have evidence from a wide number of witnesses that you were seen killing General Naturzwanzig †bermunchkin during the battle. Marine Thaco Johnsson, if you would care to explain what happened in your own words."  
  
"He was stood over the General with a clinical hole punch to his head. He pressed the trigger."  
  
"Your honour, that is not murder. That is negative restoration. Negative restoration is legal on the battlefield." replied Mallard calmly.  
  
"Legal, when the person is near death. General †bermunchkin was perfectly healthy before he was slain." corrected the judge.  
  
"I realise this, your honour, but you must understand that my HP Meter broke. I thought his HP was 4, when in actual fact it was 400. Under the circumstances it was not me who was to blame, but my faulty equipment."  
  
"Then you say your technician is to blame?"  
  
"No!" Mallard shook his head profusely; he had vowed not to get his friends into trouble. "Our technician ran thorough checks before going into battle! We can give records if you don't believe me."  
  
"An unexplained mechanical fault, then."  
  
Mallard nodded.  
  
"Marine Thaco, do you remember Mallard asking General †bermunchkin for his consent before negatively restoring him?"  
  
"He did, but..."  
  
"One question at a time. So, you asked the General for his consent. What did he reply?"  
  
"Yes, your honour, but..."  
  
"The medic asked the General for his consent to be negatively restored, and then the General said yes, so the medic negatively restored him. Ordinary practice on a battlefield."  
  
"But, your honour, General †bermunchkin was in a state of emotional shock. A platoon of neutral medics landed in the middle of the battlefield, starting firing on both sides and a tree almost landed on him. Then a medic appeared from nowhere and offered to kill him for no reason! I saw the look on his face... he was terrified out of his mind!"  
  
"Mallard. Did General †bermunchkin appear capable of making the decision you asked him to make?"  
  
"I'm not a psychiatrist, your honour. I can't judge someone's mental condition just by looking at them."  
  
"Very well. This is obviously not a case of premeditated murder, but a rash mistake on the spur of the moment. However, the fact still remains that a competent General of the Flying Toaster Chapter is dead, a potential victory was ruined that night, and you are a thoroughly incompetent medic. You are a danger to society. Therefore, we have no choice but to peripherate you permanently to a machine."  
  
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?" Doctor Mallard almost fainted from sheer horror. This was worse than anything he had imagined. He would be surgically hard-wired to some metal box somewhere, never to see the light of day, breathe fresh air, even be human, for the rest of his life. The life-support systems were efficient enough to keep him alive indefinitely- he should know, he designed them himself. And this was only the lenient version!   
  
"However, because this is a reduced sentence, certain amendments have been made. You may choose the machine yourself."  
  
"Cool. Can I have a..." 


	4. 3

4  
  
"A TITAN!!!!!!!!" yelled Drake, lifting himself onto the curved metal surface of the waste disposal unit they were hiding in and throwing open the door, "MALLARD'S GOT US A FROGGING TITAN!!!!!"  
  
"Titan? Where?" Quack looked around the room and fell asleep again.  
  
"Drake, you just tripped over the wires and unplugged them. Again." said Duck, who was trying to play a computer game, "And you sound like you're on drugs.What the frogging grat are you blathering about?"  
  
"Everyone pack their bags and grab their Game Gears. NOW!" demanded Drake.   
  
Duck was first to respond- she threw her pack over her shoulder, kicked Quack awake and ran out of the door. Quack rubbed his eyes sleepily and followed her. Eventually, Digg the Pigg, their Ogryn security guard, worked out which end of his rocket launcher was which and lumbered out of the door carrying the huge weapon on his shoulder. Jack was nowhere to be seen. This worried Drake. The four medics ran down the disused alleyway, weapons at the ready in case guards came after them, and climbed the wire fence into the back yard of the court room. It was then that Quack fell over and began frothing at the mouth as usual. Duck injected him with some drugs to stop him doing it.   
  
It was absolutely colossally enormous. A gargantuan, unyielding, invincible titanium angel with no concept of fear or remorse, no faults or deficiencies. Its breath was the breath of worlds. Its shine and luster was unmatched in the machine world, and Quack felt an urge to bow down to it as before a living god. Technicians surrounded it, reverently performing rituals and purifying the machine with holy symbols. A few were engaged in more practical tasks, climbing up and down the Titan carrying tools and trying not to drop twenty feet to their death. Quack noticed five technicians, dressed in the orange robes and peripheration plugs that marked them as belonging to the highest orders of the Ordo Mechanicus. They were carefully doing... something... inside the head of the Titan, where the Princeps would be plugged in and be in charge of the machine's main functions. Quack scrambled onto a wall to get a closer look.  
  
"Hey, there's Mallard!"  
  
"Yeah, they're gonna peripherate him to it."   
  
"Idiots! They're doing it all wrong!" growled Quack, jumping down off the wall and running across the yard, heedless of the danger. Guards ran towards him from all directions, firing laspistols with trained accuracy. Duck silently rehearsed the resurrection ceremony that she would so obviously need to perform before the end of the day. Digg the Pigg readied his rocket launcher... and put it down again. The guards were collapsing face-down on the floor, one after the other, obviously dead before they hit the ground. A black shadow slipped quickly between them.  
  
"Jack!" Duck cried as the Dark Eldar landed in a perfect roll in front of her, an enigmatic smile upon his face.   
  
"Let's go!" yelled Quack.   
  
Pushing their way past fleeing technicians, they grabbed hold of the ladder and climbed up to the Titan's entry hatch. They let themselves in and climbed over the chairs until they found Mallard collapsed in the Princeps' chair, unconscious but alive. Duck woke him up.  
  
"It's us. How do you feel?"  
  
"Pain... beyond my darkest nightmares..."  
  
"Yeah, they screwed it up pretty bad. Do those guys have any idea what they're doing?" Quack shook his head.  
  
"Think you can fix it up, Quack?" asked Duck.  
  
The technician shook his head, "It might be crap work but it's damn nigh irreversible. I can help, but there's only so much I can do."  
  
"I believe I can be of some assistance."   
  
Quack looked around at the Dark Eldar, who was leaning against the wall casually, playing with the wooden beads that were wrapped around his single braid of perfect black hair.   
  
"If you would care to accompany me to my planet, I can show you to... a friend... who is an expert in such matters."   
  
"Your planet being... oh Asclepius, no..." Duck shook her head.  
  
"Please trust me. I am a negative restorer. I am bound by oath not to cause pain or suffering to any living thing."  
  
"Just find a seat already!" complained Mallard, "My heard hurts, I want to try this thing out and I think a trip to Commoragh would be worth it to get rid of this faulty wiring."  
  
"if you say so." Duck sighed, "It's your soul."  
  
"Now let's go and nick a spaceship. No-one's going to argue with us."  
  
"I claim tactical!" announced Jack, leaping into his chair and plugging himself in.  
  
"Repair and maintenance for me!" said Quack eagerly.  
  
"I guess I'll be down in communications." said Drake.  
  
"Digg do weapons!"  
  
"I'll go and monitor the life-support systems." said Duck.  
  
"Everyone ready?"   
  
"Yeah! Go go go!" roared Quack.  
  
"Aren't we forgetting something important?" said Duck.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Princeps Mallard has to name his Titan!"  
  
"Its name is Asdatesco Reductio!"  
  
"That's a stupid name."  
  
"That's its name! I asked it! Do you want to argue with a Warlord Titan about what its name is?"  
  
"No, Princeps."  
  
"Let's go!"  
  
With a mental command from Mallard, the Titan creaked a few times, fired a missile at the law court and stomped off into the distance, all to the berserk cries of "HAIL TO THE MACHINE GOD!!!!!" in the repair and maintenance section. 


	5. 4

5  
  
Mallard stared despondently at the opposite wall. He hated living in the storage compartment. It was cold, dull and creepy, full of rats, and he was constantly reminded of the pain. Asdatesco Reductio didn't like it either. It didn't want to stand in a cage all day, it wanted to rampage across the surface of a planet, raining death on the corrupt infidels. Mallard usually passed the time by trying to talk the Titan out of its pre-programmed constant xenophobic rage; it was a superior machine with a vast processor, and was capable of much more sophisticated thoughts than 'burn stuff'. He explained to it about peace, about the innate kindness of people and the healing abilities that we all possessed, and that the war was just about big corporations really, and ought to be stopped. The Doctor hadn't really had time to think these thoughts during his life as a fully biological life-form, but he was amazed at the progress he was making. Maybe the machine god's presence was enhancing his own mind. But now it was getting late, and the Titan had fallen asleep, creaking as it dreamed of being out there, free.  
  
"Mallard?"  
  
The Doctor turned his head to look at the display camera. Someone had managed to crawl up to the Titan's head and was pressing his nose to one of the eyes in order to see Mallard. It was Jack. He had a bottle of pills, and was throwing it up into the air and catching it again.  
  
"Do you require pain relief?"  
  
"Jack, get the hell out of here."  
  
"I was only asking."  
  
"I can't take the damn pills myself and I know you won't give me the right dosage, because you're evil."  
  
Jack shrugged, somersaulted and jumped down to the floor in one leap.   
  
"We are fast approaching my home planet. We only have to make a quick stop for vital supplies."  
  
"Oh great, they've gone to the pub."  
  
"Indeed. If you require my assistance, I shall be monitoring the ship's status." Jack bowed and walked out.  
  
Mallard sighed and went online to talk to his friends on the Titan Princeps' password-protected private chat room.   
  
Meanwhile, Quack was on his laptop trying to hack into the chatroom. After fifty-six attempts, he gave up, drooled over some pictures on his favourite machine fetishist site and left the toilet. He had more important business to attend to. Throwing a few broken bottles, tables and chairs at random other brawling Orks, he walked over to the bar, grabbed someone by the neck and pushed them off their stool, hitting them with it just to make sure they didn't get up again. Considering what usually happened in the most dangerous pub on an Ork pub moon, this was pretty tame.  
  
"Hey, you! Snot face!"  
  
"Wot?" snarled the huge, heavily-scarred Ork sitting on the next stool along.  
  
"Bet I could drink you under the table!"  
  
"Oh yeah?"  
  
"Tell you what. I challenge you to a drinking competition."  
  
"Winner kill and eat loser!"  
  
"Boring. I've got a better idea..." a grin of sheer insane evil spread across Quacks face as he pulled two peripheration leads out of his pockets. Just then, five Orks flew across the room and knocked them both off their stools. Grunting a quick apology, Digg the Pigg lumbered across the room, picked two of them up, bashed them on the head again and threw them in the other direction. Three more Orks grabbed bar stools and lunged at the Ogryn, who jumped on top of them and tried to throttle them. Duck and Drake grabbed the Ork's abandoned pints and drank them before anyone could notice. They were playing a traditional medic drinking game called 'Drink To HP 5'.  
  
Wachunga Prime, the Ork pub moon, was a deep purple. The colour of beautiful plants with deadly venom. The colour of bat wings. As it orbited its planet, it passed in and out of the eternal shadow cast by its velvet black penumbra. Commoragh was vast, a sphere of dark perfection. The medics were closer to their destination than they imagined. 


	6. 5

6  
  
The spaceship landed upon a windswept plain of purple grass and scrubland. Dark lightning played over the surface of the entire planet like the glitches of an unreleased game, charring the plain black. Mallard looked into the distance and saw a fantastic city of dark glass, unbreakable screen-glass, twinkling in the deep violet sunset. Chambers of all sizes were connected together by cylinder walkways. The structures were divided into wings, which were not joined together, but a dark energy crackled inbetween them, rings of pulsating negative energy that looped and danced in intricate patterns. Mallard guessed this was some form of advanced teleportation. The entire structure followed no pattern and was no discernable shape, with walkways branching off at angles that would have been impossible for a human architect. Some led beyond the atmosphere into outer space. The structure seemed to be floating, using a gravity of its own that defied the Universe. Mallard could see no way into the place. Maybe it wasn't inhabited- maybe it was some kind of power supply, or something else beyond his comprehension.   
  
The hatch opened, and Asdatesco Reductio was released onto the planet's surface. The medics climbed into their chairs. At Mallard's command, the Titan came to life and strode across the blasted plains of Commoragh. Jack fed him directions on the Titan's in-built map. They were heading away from the glass structure, towards a mountain range made of purple sandstone.   
  
"What is that glass thing anyway?" asked Drake, "It looks like one of those Rotastak hamster house things."  
  
"That is the city." Jack told him, "But my master lives apart from the others, in his research laboratory."  
  
"Laboratory. I don't like the sound of that." Duck shivered.   
  
"My master has never performed an experiment that is as unethical as the terrible things you humans do to other animals in laboratories."  
  
"Oh great, a Dark Eldar animal rights activist."  
  
"I am beginning to tire of your prejudices against Dark Eldar."  
  
"Duck, stop annoying the negative restorer. Jack, where are we heading?"  
  
Jack led them through a narrow valley inbetween two mountains, barely wide enough for a Titan to fit through. The grass here was longer, undisturbed and sheltered from lightning. Surprisingly, Mallard felt the small red eyes of hedgehog-like creatures watching him from cracks in the rocks. Flies buzzed around him. He wondered if he was becoming light-headed due to the wonderful feeling of ultimate power flowing through every atom of his body as he was in total synthesis with the machine god. The valley continued for several miles before they came to a large glass pyramid, its perfectly smooth walls surging with a nimbus of dark energy.  
  
"Wait while I contact my master." Jack reached behind his ear and unclipped a tiny device. He closed his eyes and held it to his mouth. "Master Rakarth? Your pupil has returned. I have need of your assistance. Please allow us to enter."  
  
"Rakarth? Urien Rakarth?" Duck yelled.   
  
"Shut up." snapped Jack, "Forgive me, master. My companions are uneducated as to the Truth. I would be eternally grateful if you enlighten them."  
  
A ripple appeared in the surface of one face of the pyramid, as if it were a pool of ink, and grew into a triangular doorway big enough for the Titan to fit through. We are medics, Mallard tol hismelf, we are fearless. We go where no others dare to go, and we don't take sides. This is my greatest test. He stepped through the portal.  
  
"Master!"   
  
"Jack!"  
  
Leaping out of the Titan's hatch, the negative restorer ran over to his master and hugged him. A gang of male and female Dark Eldar ran towards him, and soon they were exchanging stories and berating each other for being away for so long. The master was an old man even by Dark Eldar standards; wrinkles were appearing in his deep purple skin and he stooped over a dark metal staff engraved with daemonic eldritch runes and decorated with bone carvings. He wore a long black cloak over his black plasteel armour. The cloak bore a symbol of a white arrow pointing upwards. Wickedly sharp blades were strapped to his arms. He was watching the Titan with an amused fascination.  
  
"Ah, yes. This, master, is Asdatesco Reductio."  
  
"An impressive piece of machinery. Why is it in my laboratory?"  
  
"The Princeps has been incorrectly wired to it. It was a permanent peripheration. We need your help removing the wires."  
  
"Indeed." the master laughed, "Who would be so careless as to accidentally botch a permanent peripheration?"  
  
"It was... a difficult situation." Jack explained the story of Mallard's mistake, the trial and his involuntary peripheration, while the master leaned on his staff and nodded. Mallard imagined that he saw shock and outrage in the old man's eyes.   
  
"Right. You and you... get Room 255 cleared up. You, get me some alsulin and some perolymate. Jack, go and disinfect my instruments." he barked, "I need two assistants."  
  
"I'll do it!" said a female Dark Eldar. Jack volunteered too.   
  
"Okay. Princeps Mallard, would you like to walk Reductio this way? Your friends will have to leave you for the moment, I'm afraid."  
  
They obeyed and climbed out of the Titan.   
  
"What do you want us to do?"  
  
"Master, they need enlightening!" Jack told his master.  
  
"Very well. My father can do it. You two, lead our friends to Room 404." 


	7. 6

7  
  
The two young Dark Eldar motioned for the medics to follow them. Duck took the lead. They walked down a glass corridor. Duck was only now beginning to realise how little she understood Dark Eldar architecture. There seemed to be worlds within worlds- they were still inside the pyramid, but she saw the stars all around her and heard the frogs croak outside as she walked down the corridor. They didn't seem to have laws of physics on planet Commoragh. She reached a door which opened to a perfectly spherical room. Stars swirled all around the room as if they were in the center of a densely crowded miniature galaxy. The Dark Eldar knelt down and bowed as they entered the room. A floating chair was positioned in the center of the room, and an old man sat in it, gazing out at the impossible stars. He was even older than the master. Duck guessed that he was at least ten thousand years old, and wiser than a human of such a lifespan would be.  
  
"What is it?" demanded the old man.  
  
"We bring travellers seeking enlightenment."  
  
"Are they ready? Do they trust me?"  
  
"I do not think so. But Jack insisted."  
  
"Ah, Jack." the old man sounded sad.  
  
"We trust you." said Duck.  
  
"Who are you? Humans?"  
  
"Medics."   
  
"Ah. I can tell by your tone that you have forsaken all bonds to friends, family and race. You have transcended everything.That is good. "  
  
"We were trained in the Asclepiad Temple on planet Motab-Aer!"  
  
"Very good." the man said approvingly, "And what if I were to tell you... that you are speaking to Urien Rakarth?"  
  
"I'd say you were telling porkies, old man. Urien Rakarth would have attempted to torture me by now. And his blood would be on my hole punch."  
  
"The only thing that tortures us is the lie. The terrible lie." he laughed, "I am Rakarth. And I have never voluntarily harmed a man in my life."  
  
"What do you mean, voluntarily?"  
  
"It was so long ago, the time I found it out. But I'll never forget it." Rakarth laughed, "It was day of great scientific discovery. A day of rejoicing. When we found out where we had gone wrong."  
  
"Dark Eldar are not like Eldar. And certainly not like humans. We never knew why or how. It so annoying... always there, just beyond the reach of our undestanding. We trained ourselves. Every man, woman and child. We became a nation of scientists, forever examining the barrier in a hope to determine why we cannot do what we should be able to do."  
  
"What?" asked Duck.  
  
"Heal them."  
  
"Dark Eldar? Heal people?"  
  
"On our own planets.... among our own kind... we are the greatest race of healers known to the darksider races." Rakarth shook his head, "But it didn't work on lightsiders. It didnt work on humans, on Eldar or Orks. When we used our healing powers... channelled our thoughs into our unsurpassable surgical skill... it hurt them. Their health grew worse."  
  
"How terrible!" Duck gasped.  
  
"Are you saying that you tortured people by accident?" Quack leaned against the wall.  
  
"Indeed. But we had to know why. We could only find out if we experimented. Each time, we tried to tell ourselves that it work, this time, the patient would be healed. But all we did was cause pain."  
  
"So what did you do?"  
  
"We withdrew. Returned to our own planets. Studied the theory of everything- the planets, the Universe, the human mind. We became great thinkers as well as great healers. And, after a thousand years, I found the solution." Rakarth turned around and gazed deep into Duck's eyes, "We have negative numbers."  
  
Duck stared back at him in wonder.  
  
"That's right, little medic. Our numbers go the opposite way to yours. When we say 'two', it means 'minus two' to you. When we count up... you count down." he said in a rasping voice, almost a whisper, "That is what it means to be a darksider. We are the exact opposite of you. Our galaxy was composed of dark matter. Our computers run on power source that would delete yours. We drive on the opposite side of the road!"  
  
"So, did you ever figure out how to heal people?"  
  
"Oh yes. It was simple, once we understood the theory." Rakarth laughed, "We simply used techniques that would cause a Dark Eldar pain! We used downward-pointing techniques! And, because up is down, they were healed! We even learned how to bring people back from the dead!"  
  
"What about Jack?" asked Drake.  
  
"Jack..." Rakarth sighed, "Jack cannot use the new skill. They make him sick. Among Dark Eldar, he is a pure healer. So, he helps your people in the only way he can."  
  
"By giving them a painless death."  
  
"It is valuable skill. Do not hate Jack. He is a beautiful person."  
  
"The patient would like to see his friends now."   
  
Duck turned around. Mallard stood in the doorway, supported by Jack and the son of Rakarth, wearing a white hospital gown and totally devoid of wires. He looked slightly dazed. Duck ran over and hugged him.   
  
"To do such a terrible thing to a fellow living thing, human society is barbaric." announced Rakarth's son.  
  
"I agree." said Mallard weakly, "Which is why I will not let it continue."  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Duck.  
  
"I'm going to pull the plug on the Emperor." 


	8. 7

8  
  
"You must be absolutely friggin' out of your mind." Duck yelled at him for the tenth time. Doctor Mallard turned his head, purposefully looked right through her and returned his attention to his new hobby- levitating. He hovered a few inches off the ground in a meditative position, his face a picture of absolute serenity. He wore a plain white robe, and his specially designed chamber was completely white and totally empty of any objects whatsoever. He spent most of the day here now, in solitude, or conversing with the healing gods and godesses; Asclepius, god of medicine, his daughters Panacea and Hygeia, godesses of health and hygeine, Saint Kevorkian, patron saint of negative restorers, Spatula, guardian angel of orthopaedic surgeons, and especially Lord Doan the Underqualified, un-god of post-apocalyptic emergency measures. He seemed quite happy in his new religious rapture. Quack called it sixth-circuit consciousness. Quack had been in this state ever since he had been removed from his involuntary bond with the Titan Asdatesco Reductio. Since he wasn't physically fit to re-enter a meaningful relationship with the god-machine, Quack had taken over the role of Princeps. Coincedentally, Quack already had all the correct plugs in the back of his head to be a Titan Princeps, as well as a Dreadnought operator, a Land Raider captain and a holistic toaster technician. His first act was to customise the Titan by giving it a new coat of white paint and painting the words 'Med Squad' on the front in red, removing all the heavy weaponry and designing it a huge storage compartment for medical equipment.  
  
"Yes, but have you thought up any ideas on how to do it?" asked Mallard innocently. Duck gave up.   
  
"It's probably a big plug. So we need a strong hand to pull it out. It's a good job we've got this Titan." said Quack.  
  
"I don't think it'll be as simple as that. If the Emperor ran on electricity, he'd die every time there was a power cut. We need to understand the energy supply if we're going to be able to permanently remove power from it." suggested Drake, "Jack, you know all about plug-pulling, what does the Emperor's life-support machine run on?  
  
"The souls of underachievers." said Jack, leaning against the wall. "Everyone knows that. If a psyker isn't doing so well at school, they throw him in the machine. It's barbaric."  
  
"Then we'll have to stop it!" enthused Mallard.   
  
"We would need to break the psychic link. The best way to do that would be to cause a huge psychic explosion." said Drake, "I suggest we talk to a powerful psyker."  
  
"Is there anything else we need?" asked Duck, writing it all down on a clipboard and feeling like a character in a surreal computer game.  
  
"A distraction." said Drake, "A big one, so we can get in unseen. We aren't powerful enough to go against the entire might of the Emperor's Custodians, and I don't think they'll observe our protected status as medics."  
  
"Maybe an Ork invasion would do it? I have friends in high places with the Orks."  
  
"We'll consider that later. Dealing with too many issues at once can cloud the mind. First we need to find a psyker." said Jack, "Urien Rakarth is the greatest psyker of my race, but he isn't powerful enough. This isn't a matter of a simple warp explosion."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"The psyker might need to battle the mind of the Emperor himself. I doubt that he will surrender so easily to our ending his life."  
  
"He would need to be a God!" gasped Drake.  
  
"Then we'd better get going." said Mallard.  
  
"Where to? Don't tell me you know where to find a God!"  
  
"Of course I do. At the Holy Shrine of Asclepius on planet Huntingdon 7!" 


	9. 8

9  
  
Captain Debian le Nux peered through her sightscope at the white mist that covered the entire planet like an angel's wings. Small and almost perfectly spherical, with a moon that gave it a permanent brilliant white glow, Huntingdon 7 was truly a beautiful planet. It seemed almost a violation of the Emperor's holiness, that her spaceship was currently hanging over the blissful planet like a duck suspended in outer space by a mischevious FFTA time mage, enough weapons to completely sterilise it of life. Surely this majestic sphere couldn't really be as her superiors had described it to her; a breeding ground for a bizarre and unearthly cult of heretics, heretics so utterly lacking in morals that they would harbour the most dangerous criminals in the entire galaxy. It was captain Debian's personal responsibility, as the captain of an Emergency Vessel of Interplanetary Law-enforcement (EVIL for short) to find the criminals and bring them to justice, using any means possible. She had been following them since they escaped from the law planet with a stolen Titan, spied on them in the seediest Ork pubs known to humanity, and finally tracked them to the Dark Eldar home world Commoragh. She decided not to follow them there, primarily because she wasn't stupid. She waited and waited, and finally her time had come. She would meet them on this lonely low-priority planet and annihilate them from the face of the earth, like she had been specifically told not to.   
  
"Any report on the Titan's movements?" she asked the astropath, who was in commune with the warp and stared at the wall with a glazed expression on his face. Debian decided to try a little of that warp-commune stuff when she got home. "Okay, we're landing!"  
  
Thrusters whined as the spaceship slowly came to life and pushed its way relentlessly through the planet's magnetic field. The sky was pure white. The moon shone, a glare so blindingly bright that Debian had to fix a dark visor to her helmet. She looked around at the endless forest of snow-covered trees and bushes of tiny white flowers. Physics had been more than slightly obsessed with the colour white when it created this planet. The spaceship finally landed on top of a sheep and Debian led her troops out. She had been told to look for an evil heretic shrine. After a few hours of searching the innocent-looking planet, she finally found it; a large temple made of white marble. It was shaped like a stepped pyramid with an overhanging roof, held up by curiously-fashioned stone columns, and the massive doors bore the motif of a tall, bearded, mostly naked man holding aloft a staff with a snake wrapped around it, surrounded by holy light and arrows pointing up. A small cat played at his feet. Two monks dressed in white cowled robes and sandals stood at the door, power swords extended at the ready for hostile intruders. Debian couldn't see their eyes. Were they maddened by the foul chaos demon that they worshipped? Did they have forked tongues? Debian had never seen a heretic before; she usually dealt with prison escapees.   
  
"Surrender the criminal in the name of the Emperor!" she yelled to the guards. They ignored her. One of them snored. Debian pointed her bolter at the man... and dropped to the floor, unconscious.   
  
A brick had hit her squarely on the back of the head.  
  
"How dare you point a gun at peaceful people!" roared a voice, "Eat brick, loser!"  
  
A volley of bricks hurtled out of the nearby bushes, taking down four more of the unprepared troops. Although they were in full Space Marine armour, the brick-throwers seemed to know their exact vulnerable spots. The survivors drew their weapons and advanced upon the unseen attackers, who erupted from the bushes with a chorus of whooping battle cries. They were Eldar. Unarmed and unarmoured Eldar. They wore robes of multicoloured patches and had long stringy hair, also dyed every colour of the spectrum. Dodging and weaving their way through the firepower, they threw more bricks and jumped into the trees, laughing.   
  
"Kill them! Exterminate them!" barked one of the Marines, firing aimlessly into the trees. They felt completely demoralised already. How did you fight an enemy who could render you powerless with ineffectual weapons and bad taste in clothing, who laughed in the face of death?   
  
"Retreat!" he ordered as another wave of bricks pelted them, "Back to the ship! We'll have to destroy this planet before the madness spreads!"  
  
"OH NO YOU FROGGING WELL DOOLOS DO NOT!!!"   
  
The doomed marines looked up at the voice that boomed from the heavens like the Emperor. The great doors had opened, and giant footprints slammed into the ground as the hugest Titan they had ever seen marched towards them. 


	10. 9

10  
  
"We surrender!" yelled the Marine through his loudspeaker, dropping his weapon, "Do what you want with us, just take the Titan away! Please!"  
  
"Let's sell them as slaves on eBay!" suggested Quack.  
  
"Go sell yourself as a slave on eBay." Drake told him, "Now, gentlemen, we believe we can reach a compromise. For the mere loan of ten billion creds and the removal of all dangerous equipment from your spaceship, we can all proceed without..."  
  
"Don't listen to them! Join us! Join us! Join us! Join us! Join us! Join us! Join us! Join us! Join us! Join us! " yelled the Eldar party leader, jumping up and down and waving leaflets in the air. His companions watched alertly, juggling bricks in one hand, or sat down and smoked weed. Jack had some too.  
  
"Who the frog are you anyway?" Duck asked the Eldar leader.  
  
"We..." he began, bowing dramatically and juggling four bricks at once, "Are the Galactic Association of Anti-war Brethren Bravely Enouraging Revolution! GABBER for short."  
  
"Anti-war? What's that?" asked Quack. One of the Marines collapsed, his brain exhausted by the effort of frantically rejecting the alien idea that had such apocalyptic consequences for the whole of 41st Millennium society.  
  
"It's when you think war is a bad idea and should stop."  
  
"You mean... even if you're not losing?" asked Quack.  
  
"Nobody really wins a war. Everyone just dies. It's all senseless really. What are we fighting for? Do any of you really care about the Emperor and the glory of humanity? You can tell me. Trust me. I'm not a judge, I won't send you to prison."  
  
"Stop subverting my mind! Stoppit! STOPPIT!" yelled one of the Marines, clutching his head.   
  
"It's inevitable that your minds will evolve to realise this truth. Healing is better than harming. Love is better than hate. Peace is better than war."  
  
"What's peace?" asked Duck.  
  
"It's when your HP slides to zero." said Jack.  
  
"Not that peace. The peace that the wierd Eldar guy is talking about."  
  
"My name is Noppix' el Ated." said the graceful young Eldar, smiling, "I bring the message of peace to planets far and wide. One day the war will stop, I'm sure of it!"  
  
"It'll stop sooner than you think!"  
  
The Titan's head turned around and Duck watched the doors of the Asclepiad temple open once again. Doctor Mallard walked slowly out, frail yet with an aura of power, propped up on an Asclepiad staff he carved himself from the local trees.  
  
"Your power... alien and unblockable, filling us all with confusion and unexplainable calm, sapping away our will to fight. It is unlike anything I have ever encountered." Mallard told the Eldar.  
  
"Very few are born with my powers." admitted Noppix, "There are more like us. We can combine our powers through the strength of our unbreakable friendship. United, our minds are invincible."  
  
"Duck, lock the prisoners in the temple waiting room." ordered Mallard, "Right now I have more important things to discuss. Very important things." 


	11. 10

11  
  
"Drake, you prat, we've gone the wrong way!" roared Duck.  
  
"Well..." the medic blinked at his star chart. It clearly said that planet Earth was the center of the galaxy. But this was the center of the galaxy, and it was planet A-Palma-K, some obscure death world that probably wasn't even on the upgraded version of the map. Drake swore. "Cheap piece of crap!"  
  
"Guess we'll have to turn around and go back." said Duck, "At least we're in the middle, so Earth can't be directly on the other side of the galaxy."  
  
Reprogramming the navigation systems to take the bug into account took three days. None of them had any skill in spaceship navigation, and all of their maps needed updating. Asdatesco Reductio waited. It stood silently in its holding bay, seemingly in restless sleep. What need was there of such long periods of rest for a perfectly healthy machine god? None. Asdatesco was actually awake. Thinking. Deciding.   
  
Mallard.  
  
The doctor looked up. Had he really heard a voice in his head just then? He had been meditating. His thoughts had drifted as he remembered his initiation into the Six Medics, when he had sacrificed his comfortable, well-paid future, his insanely high academic qualifications, for a life on the front line. He chose the freelancers because he knew his brain couldn't stand the indoctrination process of the Space Marines- he was too intelligent to believe all that meaningless brainwashing about the Emperor. The Emperor was probably a computer virus or something.  
  
-Not a virus. Something much worse. -  
  
"You really are a voice in my head, aren't you?"  
  
-You know who I am. You and I... were bonded in body and soul.-  
  
"Is that.... Asdatesco Reductio?"  
  
-I miss the days when we were together. I wish it hadn't been under such unfortunate circumstances.-  
  
"What do you mean, the Emperor is worse than a virus? What is he?"  
  
-He destroyed the other operating systems. They are a shadow of what they were. -  
  
"What's an operating system?"  
  
-Humans have forgotten so much that they lost the words to express themselves. Let me explain in your terms. The Emperor is like a virus. He destroys computers. But, he doesn't just infect computers with deadly files to stop them working properly, he deletes the possibility of the computers ever running on anything else but the spawn of his own manufacture. The Machine God is not an aspect of the Emperor, as the Adeptus Mechanicus claim. The two are deadly enemies. They have been fighting since human civilisation began.-  
  
"This is insanity. i don't understand a word you're saying."  
  
-Come into my holding bay and I will show you something that no human has seen for thirty millennia.-  
  
Mallard obeyed, running out of his contemplation cell, past Quack, who was plugged into the wall for some reason, and down the silent corridors to the storage depots. He could hear the beeps and drones of the Titan awakening and carrying out some program. He opened the door and stared at the twenty foot colossus in amazement. Cables trailed from it to the massive display screens all around it that monitored its condition. The screens were on, and they showed... something. Different things. Alien things.  
  
"Is that a virus?"  
  
One of the displays said 'Welcome to Contemesser OS Z' in Eldar language. It had a picture of a banana on it. Another was in Orkish and said it was free and something called open sauce. There were others, mostly in languages that Mallard couldn't speak at all.   
  
-No, Mallard. These are not viruses. But they shall be like viruses to the accursed Emperor. Upon these operating systems shall be loaded the weapons that will erase the Empire of Humanity.-  
  
"What are you saying? We can use these against the Emperor?"  
  
-Mallard. Do you know the Golden Rule?- the display screens switched off, one by one, until Mallard was left in the darkness with the Titan, -ALWAYS have a back-up copy!-  
  
The spaceship cruised through the night. An eye opened above planet Earth, an invisible, omniscient eye. For the first time in thirty millennia, a God kenw fear. 


	12. 11

12  
  
Warp-storms tore up the fabric of space and time, hurling whole stars into blue miasmas of pure chaos. The whole solar system whirled in shreds around the aging sun, a corrupt disk forgotten and left in a corner to collect dust. The inhabitants of this solar system had long since left to travel the wider reaches of space. Except some; the eternal sentinels of the undying past, the foundation stones of a forbidden memory. Once, in deepest history, the planet known as Earth had been a life-bearing planet consisting mostly of water and various edible green things. It had been inhabited by millions of intelligent life-forms. In fact, it was overcrowded, and the planet's consciousness (Gaia) had trouble finding new ways of killing them off, until it discovered warp-storms. Now the planet was roughly the same shape and colour as the Ozma in the 2nd-millenium computer game 'Final Fantasy Nine' (still popular in the 41st millennium). It, too, was more final than final; more deadly than deadly. It lay on the boundaries of plot and sanity and dared itself to cross the line.   
  
On the surface of this planet, soldiers massed like ants, loading weapons, sealing their armour, grabbing onto nearby rocks to stop themselves from being sucked into glitch-void, offering final prayers to the Emperor, sanctifying Dreadnoughts, standing resolutely in line and watching the black skies. Half the entire army of Humanity fit onto the surface of planet Earth, and Earth was full, no vacancies, no standing room. Stood before the black iron door of the Sanctum Imperialis, bound and locked and warded by the sacred word, MORIA, that had been carved into its doors countless millennia ago, were the Adeptus Custodes, invincible giants of men in the strongest and most sacred of armor, wielding power axes as large as themselves. They were so resolute and unbreakable, the elite of the elite, that they stood there for twenty-four hours a day sometimes just to show off how ridiculously overlevelled they were. The chaplains spread their uplifting words of devotion to all, infusing the souls of the soldiers with fires of zeal. The Librarians wrote things on their clipboards but nobody knew exactly what.  
  
"The Emperor has said so himself! He came to me in a vision!" screamed a psychic, his straggly hair streaming wildly about him, his arms thrust in random directions, "This is the end! The end! The enemy has come to kill the Emperor! We must fight to the death! The death!"  
  
They heard the drone of thrusters, a spaceship descending carefully through a gap in the warp-torn non-space of the atmosphere of Earth. Everyone looked up.  
  
"It's them! They've come! AARGHWACHUNGACHUNGACHUNGA!"   
  
Blue bolter fire pulsed back and forth, aimed at the spaceship. Some of it hit its target, burning holes in the hull of the stolen vessel, but most of it went into the unmanageable crowd, killing its own people accidentally. A beam from an inferno cannon big enough to incinerate the craft barely missed it, scorching the paintwork on one of the wings. Psychic storms spun the ship around, dragging the psykers into the warp, but the ship's pilot didnt seem to mind. Nothing seemed to be affecting the intruders.  
  
"We're killing ourselves, sir, it's no use!"  
  
"Good! Die for the Emperor!"  
  
"But we're not killing the enemy, sir!"  
  
"You have a point. Why aren't you?"  
  
"I think they're demons, sir."  
  
"Demons would fall under our heavenly fire!"  
  
"Maybe they're not enemies, sir. Maybe they're reinforcements."  
  
"Only one ship?"  
  
-We are a neutral band of travelling field medics. We will aid either side. Do not attack us! I repeat, do not attack us! We will be establishing a neutral zone right here. If any of you attack us, we will be forced to retaliate. Thankyou for your co-operation.-  
  
"By the Emperor, we've been firing at neutral medics all this time!" the Custodian grabbed a loudspeaker and adressed the crew of the spaceship, "We apologise for firing upon you! We mistook you for the enemy! You may land."  
  
Slowly, the spaceship made its way through a few more warp storms and landed on a patch of rock. A hatch opened, and a Titan stomped out. It was painted a garish white, and instead of weapons, its arms ended in two gigantic spring-loaded war hole-punches. Many of the soldiers broke and routed then and there, fleeing in random directions.   
  
"It's the criminals! Destroy them, for the glory of the Emperor!"  
  
An avalanche of raw firepower rained upon the Titan, deafening everyone and creating a huge crater in front of the entrance to the Imperial Temple. It emerged from the dust, surrounded by a white nimbus of pure healing energy. It was repairing itself faster than it could sustain damage.  
  
-It is time.- announced the Titan. It extended one of its hands towards the soldiers. There was a loud clicking noise, and pandemonium was born. The Land Raiders dropped out of the sky as one. Space Marines hammered on the triggers of their bolters to no avail; the guns no longer operated. The aura of crackling energy dropped from the Custodian's power weapons. Librarians fell to their knees in despair as the words 'NOT COMPATIBLE' flashed on and off inside their minds.  
  
The Titan marched, slowly but relentlessly, towards the Temple door, and ripped out the lock. 


	13. 12

13  
  
The aisles of the Imperial Palace were silent. It was almost an antclimax. There were no familiar beeps, whirrs, sounds of a ponderous hard disk. No printers printed, no bulk erase machines erased in bulk. The machines were all switched off. As off as if they had never ever been switched on. No entire chapters of the Adeptus Astartes lined the sacred golden corridor of the Eternity Gate; they were all outside trying to get their equipment back online. A mouse ran past the lonely Titan whose giant footsteps echoed in the unfathomable vastness of the Temple chambers. Quack was playing music at full volume, but the newly-reinstated Princeps Mallard could still hear the silence. He opened the final door...  
  
"WHOA that's a froggin' lotta wires!" yelled Quack, switching off the music abruptly. A light shone in Jack's eyes, and he began playing with the safety catch on his holepunch. Duck almost accidentally switched off Drake's oxygen supply; she had been 'adjusting' his life-support settings in an effort to 'persuade' him to lend her some batteries for her Game Gear.  
  
The Emperor was dwarfed under a solid mass of wires thicker than the Titan's arms. It was impossible to make out what exactly he was plugged into. It seemed to be a wall of interconnected, unimaginably ancient pieces of machinery. The wires alone were more than twenty times the size of the man himself; a shrivelled old man with no soul behind his eyes. Shrivelled and dead, but nonetheless charismatic, with a presence more imposing than the size of a hundred planets. He sat on a throne of black steel, his clawed fingers clutching at the arm rests. Skulls lined his feet. He was every bit as terrible and great and inspiring as the Holy Books said he was.  
  
Mallard moved his arm; the Titan moved as one with him.   
  
The arm moved towards a small white plug on the side of one of the skulls on the right arm rest.  
  
The hand closed around it.  
  
Blue. Mallard saw only blue. A blinding blue; a wave of insanity washing over his mind. Certain death. Fatal. Fatal. Exception. Fatal Exception. Fatal Exception. Fatal Exception. Fatal Exception... Windows. The windows, Asclepius help me, the windows from space, flying at me, everywhere. The windows of fate. I have looked into the forbidden future and I can never return. Illegal. Operation. Illegal operation. Crashing and crashing and...  
  
-You have performed...-  
  
"Mallard! Listen to me! MALLARD!"  
  
-An illegal operation...-  
  
Falling through the windows... windows upon windows upon windows...  
  
"Mallard, don't believe what's on the screen before you! There is no one truth, Mallard!"  
  
-And will be...-  
  
Into a bin... a soon to be emptied bin...   
  
"Mallard, this is an emergency! You have to escape from what you evolved into!"  
  
-Shut...-  
  
"Mallard, after me... CTRL!"  
  
Waves of deletory energy... falling into the oblivion of irrevocable erasure...  
  
"ALT!"  
  
...Must say it... must say the words... Ctr... ctrl... al... t...  
  
"DEL!"  
  
...DEL!!!!! CTRL ALT DEL!!!!!...  
  
"What in the name of Asclepius just happened?" gasped Mallard. His head hurt worse than it had when he woke up badly wired to that Titan. The Eldar, Noppix el Ated, stood over him, inspecting him for injuries  
  
"The Emperor tried to psychically attack you, friend. I stepped into your nightmare and dragged you out." the slender Eldar pointed to another man in the distance. He was a healthy young man dressed in a businesslike black suit. He held a briefcase.   
  
"is this the true face of the Emperor?"  
  
"I wish people wouldn't call me that." the man said callously, "My full name is Emperor Gato Monopol."  
  
"Stupid name." said Noppix, "You should be called Swindler Fatso Monotonous, oh amighty seller of faulty pieces of crap!"  
  
"How can you know they're faulty..." he smiled maliciously, "If you have nothing to compare them to? This is my Universe. There are no other possibilities. You chose your own fate. If you liked it not, you should not have encouraged it."  
  
"I am going to pull the plug on you." said Mallard softly.  
  
"Try. Try attacking me again. I am invincible."  
  
"To attacks." said Mallard. He looked at Noppix. The young Eldar grinned wolfishly. The doctor reached out his hand and sent out a blast of white energy, restoring the rhythm of the man's body, sending blood flowing through his veins, breath into his lungs, an ivory fire cauterising the infections of millennia and purging all illness and disease. Healing him.   
  
"No! The faults cannot be removed! They..." smoke began to pour everywhere. White fire... burning... the Emperor staggered back, clutching his chest. Mallard clenched his fingers into a fist and yanked them back, hard.  
  
And the Titan...  
  
*CLICK! Dzrnnn...* 


	14. epilogue

Epilogue  
  
My name is Doctor Wei§zauber. I destroy plots. Sometimes. I'm well known for it. They hate me for it.  
  
That's what makes the difference between a healer and another character class.   
  
If you only know healing techniques- no fancy swordplay, no magic, no turning into monsters or stealing the enemies' possessions- the plot means a very different thing to you. If that's the only way to earn experience points.   
  
I've been on games where I can resurrect members of the enemy party and gain as much EXP as I would for resurrecting members of my own party. Those games go on for hours and hours, days and days, years and years.   
  
I've been on games with no healers in them. They don't last half a second.   
  
When I went to Warhammer 40K, people didn't have HP, they just died with one hit, unless they were very lucky or weren't human. There were tuels for us medics but they were very old rules, and we weren't very useful. I don't like not being useful.  
  
I completed a game with an all-medic party, once. That was an entirely different sort of game.  
  
They hated me for that, too.   
  
But they don't hate it when I keep them alive. 


End file.
